


Signed and Sealed

by Kefliboo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Emetophobia, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I love my children but they must suffer, Mild Angst, Mild Gore, Needles, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 02:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20959004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kefliboo/pseuds/Kefliboo
Summary: And it's then, surrounded by all the blood and the unending chaos, that Emma realises how screwed she is.Because she's in love with Sierra Parker.





	Signed and Sealed

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, look. I know y'all are still waiting for the alone together epilogue, and I SWEAR it's coming. But as much as I've come to enjoy writing fic, my heart still lies with my ocs, and I've had the desperate need to get this out of my system for a couple of weeks now. 
> 
> The cleon content will resume soon, but for now, please enjoy this sappy, bloody, excuse for w|w content.
> 
> (also big ups to [irithyll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irithyll) for beta'ing this absolute mess, you're the real mvp <3)

The sheer amount of blood is almost enough to make Emma vomit. 

The events of the night are still fresh in her mind as she helps Sierra across the threshold of her grandmother’s house. Blood drips from the stab wound on Sierra’s torso and down her bare legs, staining the freshly cleaned carpet beneath her as they trudge down the hall. Emma tries not to think about the wasted expense as she struggles to remember which door the bathroom lies behind. 

God, she should have known that her father would come after them, even from behind bars. She should have _known_ that he viewed Sierra’s continued existence as a threat; she should have known he’d stop at nothing to get rid of her. 

And she should have noticed the assassin, lurking in the shadows_, before _ he’d thrown that damned knife. 

At least Sierra had still had the strength to turn him into a plume of smoke before they’d high-tailed it out of there. 

Emma bites back a curse as they squeeze into the bathroom, quickly maneuvering Sierra’s tired form into the bathtub as gently as she can manage. She hopes that no one followed them here. She locked and bolted the front door behind them, but her revolver’s still in the car, and she doesn’t dare go back outside to get it. 

Sierra doesn’t seem to register as her butt hits the bottom of the tub. Her legs hang awkwardly over the lip, and she lets her head roll back so she can stare at the empty room above them. Her eyes are somewhat glassy, hazy as they scan the ceiling, and Emma figures that it cannot be a good sign. 

“Hell of a night, huh?” Sierra remarks with a strange smirk, entirely unphased by the seriousness of the situation - even though _ she’s _the one that got stabbed. 

Emma deigns not to respond as she kneels down beside the tub and rolls up the bottom of Sierra’s t-shirt. She finally gets a good look at the wound and winces, sucking in a startled breath through her teeth. The wound isn’t that bad - it’s a small, clean cut towards the bottom of Sierra’s abdomen - but the knife was lodged in there fairly deep, and given the amount of blood cascading down Sierra’s torso, Emma’s surprised that she survived the car trip back here. 

There was no hospital in Hell’s Crossing - given it was a small farming town of maybe two thousand inhabitants, at most - and the closest one was a forty minute drive away. Emma had been gambling with Sierra’s life when she’d foregone the hospital in favor of bringing her here, and given just how much blood is now smeared across the bathroom floor, she’s still not entirely sure she made the right decision. 

But she’ll be damned if she’s about to let anything bad happen to Sierra. If this goes wrong, she’ll never forgive herself. 

Emma curses under her breath as she clambers back to her feet and starts rifling through the bathroom cabinets. The contents are sparse, considering most of Rosemary’s belongings have been packed away into boxes and stowed in the garage, but Emma grabs what she can find; a couple of towels, some painkillers, a first aid kit that looks like it’s been in there since the eighties, and a bottle of mouthwash. 

Granted, she doesn’t know why the mouthwash would be a good idea, but it feels better to have it than to leave it. 

Sierra just lets out a breathy chuckle as Emma kneels beside the bathtub again and presses down on the wound with one of the towels, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood. 

“I always thought this is how I would go,” Sierra says dryly, somehow managing to joke through the pain. “Bleeding out in a bathroom while I was still young and dumb.” Her eyes flicker up to meet Emma’s, and something strange flashes across her face as she narrows her eyes at her. “Always figured I’d be alone, though.”

“Shut up,” Emma retorts, keeping one hand pressed against Sierra’s abdomen as she fumbles across the top of the bathroom counter with the other. “You’re not going to die.”

Sierra snorts, shooting Emma an incredulous look. “You really think you can fix this?” 

Emma doesn’t answer her; she just presses her lips together in a silent plea, praying to every God and malevolent entity she can think of that Sierra will be okay. Maybe it’s a stupid vow to make, but she’s not about to let Sierra die here. 

But she needs to close that damned wound first. 

An idea crosses Emma’s mind. She can’t remember where she saw it before - a movie she watched, or a comic that she stole from Sierra - so there’s no saying whether it’ll actually work, but frankly, she doesn’t have time to google the validity of cinema facts on her phone right now. 

It’s a long shot, but it’s the best chance she has of saving Sierra. 

“Sewing needles,” she says bluntly, scrambling to her feet and scouring the top of the bathroom counter. “Where are they?”

Sierra frowns. “You won’t find any there,” she says, and Emma swears she can hear a slight hint of anger in her voice

“No _ shit_,” Emma retorts, all but clearing the counter in one fell swoop out of frustration. She whirls around on her heel, her hands curling into fists at her sides as she repeats herself, “Where are they?!” 

She doesn’t mean to raise her voice, but the panic is finally beginning to set in. Sierra’s always pulled through, always survived every one of their stupid exploits with a cocky grin and a single thread of blood dribbling from her nose, but Emma’s not so sure she’s going to make it this time. There’s _ so much blood_, and the realisation hits her like a kick to the stomach. 

She really doesn’t know if Sierra’s going to survive this. 

Sierra’s face falls - the playful expression is gone, as though she, too, is only just beginning to register the seriousness of the situation. A jolt of pain shoots through her, and she gasps, clutching the side of her abdomen as she tries to ride it out. 

“Nana’s studio,” she answers through clenched teeth, eyes screwing shut as she tilts her head back and tries to breathe through the pain. “Top drawer of her desk.”

Emma just nods as she squats down beside the tub for a brief moment, closing Sierra’s hands around the bloody towel. 

“Keep pressing on this,” she says, hoping Sierra will actually heed an instruction for once in her life. “I’ll be right back.”

It takes all of Emma’s willpower not to faint or throw up - or both - as she clambers up the stairs. 

She’s impaled monsters with two by fours and splattered their guts across entire rooms, but the sight of her best friend in a bathtub, drenched in her own blood as the life slowly drains from her, is perhaps the most horrific thing Emma had ever been made to witness. She can’t let Sierra die. She won’t. 

There’s no way she could cope without her. 

Emma catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging on the wall of the landing as she reaches the top of the stairs; her golden hair is ratty and encrusted with dirt, half falling out of its signature ponytail. There’s a smear of blood across her left cheek, but it pales in comparison to the waterfall of red that cascades down her front, caked onto her clothes so thoroughly that Emma’s pretty sure it’s never going to completely wash out.  
  
She just shakes her head as she pushes forward into Rosemary’s studio. Now’s not the time to worry about that. 

Once she has her hands on a decent sized needlebook, she hurdles herself back downstairs, ignoring the way that sweat has begun to bead at the back of her neck as she re-enters the bathroom. 

Eddie’s snuck into the bathroom in Emma’s absence; she’s quietly whimpering as she leans over the edge of the tub, as though she can sense the urgency of the situation, pressing her wet nose into her mother’s face. 

“It’s okay, Eddie,” Sierra coos, hesitantly scratching the underside of Eddie’s chin, lest she get blood all over her dog’s nice coat. “Everything’s going to be fine.” 

Emma tries to shoo the Collie out of the bathroom, but Eddie holds firm, refusing to leave her mother’s side. Emma scowls. The last thing she needs right now is an insistent dog getting in her way, shedding fur all over Sierra’s wound and potentially endangering her life even further. 

With a grunt, Emma grabs Eddie by her collar and urges her into the hallway. 

“Sorry, Eddie,” she mutters as she locks the bathroom door behind her. “I’ll do my best to help her.” 

She can still hear Eddie whining from the hall as she turns away from the door, focusing her attention back on Sierra and the task at hand. 

“Miss me?” Sierra chides from the bathtub, trying (and failing) to cross her ankles where they’re hanging over the lip of the tub. 

Emma ignores her, only slightly registering how lethargic Sierra’s voice sounds as she sits down beside the tub again, neatly arranging all her supplies on the ground in front of her. She doesn’t have much time; any hesitation on her part could be critical right now. 

Her hands are shaking as she slowly realises what she’s about to do. She fumbles with the needlebook, struggling to undo the ribbon that fastens it shut and rifling through its contents until she settles on a decent sized needle. In a hasty last minute decision, she uncaps the mouthwash and uses it to clean the tip. Rubbing alcohol would probably be better - Hell, one of Sierra’s half empty bottles of whiskey from upstairs would probably be better - but she doesn’t want to risk another trip upstairs. Mouthwash will have to do. 

“What the hell are you doing over there?” Sierra’s tone is impatient when she finally lifts her head. When she catches Emma trying to thread the needle with dental floss, her expression falters. It makes Emma’s stomach sink; she’s never seen an ounce of fear on Sierra’s face, and the implication makes her hands shake even more. 

“I’m sorry,” Emma blubbers, a single tear cutting through the blood and dirt on her face as it slides down her cheek. “It’s for your own good.” 

Sierra doesn’t immediately respond. She takes a moment to contemplate, her gaze flickering between Emma, the needle, and the bloody towel she’s still clutching to her stomach. 

“Fine. Whatever,” she relents, her voice warbling slightly as she speaks. She screws her eyes shut and tilts her head back, clutching the opposite side of her abdomen and baring the wound to Emma. “Just get it over with. Please.” 

Emma just nods, leaning over the tub and inspecting the wound one last time.

“Hold still,” she instructs, before driving the needle through Sierra’s skin. 

Sierra hisses as Emma pulls the first stitch taut, digging her fingers into the flesh of her ribcage so hard Emma’s worried she’s going to draw more blood - and frankly, that’s the last thing she needs. But she already has the needle halfway through Sierra’s skin again, so she just bites her lip and keeps working. 

With every new stitch that Emma makes, her stomach tightens a little more, and her eyes burn with tears that she can’t keep blinking back. She’s surprised that she’s able to keep working, considering the amount that her hands are shaking, but she swiftly remembers the gravity of the situation and chooses not to dwell on it. She can’t let Sierra die. She _ won’t _. Maybe she’s never admitted it out loud, but Sierra’s the best damn thing that ever happened to her, and there’s no way in hell she’s going to let the universe take that away from her. 

When the wound is finally closed, Emma tears off the floss with her teeth and ties it off at the end, silently praying that it’ll hold. Sierra will no doubt be left with a scar, but at least she won’t bleed out and die. 

Hopefully. 

With the wound finally stemmed, Emma hurdles across the floor, barely making it to the toilet before she vomits. She hates herself for it, because it's not like she's disgusted with Sierra; it's all just too overwhelming to handle. Her t-shirt clings to her skin, and Emma’s not sure if it’s the sweat or the blood, but it takes all her willpower not to rip the damn thing off. Her decency is perhaps the only thing she has left right now. 

The bathroom is silent for a while. Emma’s stomach continues to churn, even though she has nothing left to throw up, and she finds herself clinging to the bowl of the toilet as she continues to dry heave. 

The weight of the situation begins to weigh down on her, and Emma catches her thoughts wandering. Not even four months ago, her life had been laid out in front of her; she’d marry a nice man who’d continue running her father’s company, produce an heir, and remain blissfully ignorant to the hidden, unspoken horrors of Miracle enterprises until her death. 

Instead, her father was in jail, their estate had been seized, and Emma had just sewn her best friend back together in a cramped bathroom that originally belonged to one of her family’s sworn enemies. 

_ Living the teenage dream_, Sierra had once sarcastically remarked during one of their many exploits, after they’d narrowly escaped a collapsing building in search of hints about Rosemary’s past. If Emma had been any less horrified by the current circumstances, she might have laughed at the thought. 

When her stomach finally decides to settle, Emma sidles away from the toilet and wraps up the needle with toilet paper, tossing it onto the bathroom counter as she makes a mental note to throw it out later. She has half a mind to use the mouthwash herself, but she’s not sure she can handle the sharp taste of it without vomiting again. 

Emma slumps against the counter with a sigh. She can feel the adrenaline finally beginning to fade, leaving her limbs achy and exhausted in its wake. Her legs begin shaking beneath her as she tries to climb back to her feet, but she grits her teeth and _ forces _herself to stagger towards the sink. 

“First thing in the morning,” She manages to say, turning on the tap and plunging her hands under the steady stream of hot water, “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

She reaches for a bar of soap and scrubs at her bloody palms until her skin is raw, waiting for Sierra to retaliate. But she doesn’t. 

When Emma finally turns around, drying her hands on the only clean towel left in the bathroom, Sierra’s eyes are still clenched shut and her head is still tilted back, angled towards the ceiling. Her breathing is slow and laboured, but it’s steady, at least. She’s still as she lays in the tub, and for a moment, Emma wonders if she’s finally passed out. But then Sierra cracks open an eye, panting heavily as she rakes her gaze up and down Emma’s spent form. 

“You should have left me to die,” she says, and the wince in her voice makes it obvious that she’s still in pain. 

Emma’s heart sinks at the suggestion. 

“I’ve dragged you out of burning buildings before,” she points out, hugging her knees to her chest as she sinks back down to the ground beside the bathtub. “You really think this time would be any different?” 

Sierra laughs, but it’s obviously forced, and it clearly hurts her more than it’s worth.  
  
“Come on, Emma.” She lifts her shoulders in a tired shrug as she pointedly directs her gaze across the bathroom. “It’s not worth it. ” 

Emma follows Sierra’s gaze, dragging her tired eyes across the tiny bathroom. There’s blood on the counter, the floor, and strewn all over the tub. It’s going to be hell to clean up - and Emma doubts she’ll be able to rope Cage into helping her - but at least Sierra’s okay. 

Lifting her hands to her face, Emma inspects the few flecks of blood that she couldn’t quite scrub from her palms. A few minutes ago, it was enough to make her want to empty her guts into the nearest receptacle. But now, it feels like a testament to her dedication - to Sierra’s stubbornness and her iron will, even when she was at death’s door. 

Emma drops her hands and turns her head to Sierra. 

“If it’s you,” she says quietly, feeling a spark of warmth kindling in her chest. “It’s always worth it.” 

Sierra chuckles, still clutching her abdomen as she slides further down into the tub. 

“Don’t lie to me,” she says, slowly shaking her head. “You would have been a thousand times better off if you’d left me to my fate.”

“Don’t say that,” Emma snaps, her lips all but curling back into a snarl. “I’ve told you before; Don’t _ say _ shit like that.”

Sierra just shrugs again, smiling sadly as she stares into the bottom of the tub. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Emma swivels where she’s sitting. She grips the edge of the tub and leans over it, leering forward until her face is merely inches from Sierra’s. 

“I know how much you hate yourself,” she begins, her chest heaving with every word that passes her lips. “But you’re the best damn thing that’s happened to me in thirteen years. And I’m not exaggerating when I say that.”

She reaches over the lip of the tub and takes Sierra’s hand in hers, ghosting her thumb across Sierra’s blood - encrusted knuckles. 

“You’re the best and only friend I’ve ever had,” Emma continues. “If something were to happen to you...” She bites down on her lip as a sob threatens to break from her throat, and she blinks back the tears that have started welling in her eyes. “God, I don’t think I could cope without you, Sierra.” 

Sierra just blinks, unflinching. She stares at Emma, her blue-grey eyes shimmering under the low light of the room, and Emma wonders if Sierra’s as close to tears as she is. 

“You don’t mean that,” Sierra whispers, her voice barely audible, even as it echoes quietly across the bathroom tiles. 

Emma’s heart breaks at the conviction in Sierra’s voice. How can she not see how great she is? How funny, how selfless, how caring and courageous? It breaks her heart into tiny pieces; she doesn’t know how to convey all that in a way that Sierra will believe. 

She squeezes Sierra’s hand so tight she’s almost worried it might break, but right now, it’s her only tether to what matters, and what she has left to live for. 

“I do,” she says, just as the tears start spilling from her eyes. “Fuck, Sierra, I-” she swallows, trying to fight the lump that’s formed in her throat. There’s more she wants to say, but she can’t find the right words. How were you supposed to tell someone that they were the only person you cared about - and risk losing them in the process? 

Sierra just stares at her, her eyes wide and almost fearful - and Emma’s stomach sinks as she wonders if she’s made a mistake. Maybe, for once in her life, she should have kept her stupid mouth shut. 

After a moment, Sierra blinks, shaking away whatever stupor she’d lost herself in. She wets her lips, leans forward, and does the last thing on earth Emma would ever have expected. 

She grabs Emma by the t-shirt and kisses her.  
  
Emma freezes. For a moment, she forgets the blood that’s strewn all through the house or the rancid taste of bile that still lingers in her mouth or the threat that could still be lingering outside. There’s no way this is real. It has to be a dream. It _ has _to be. 

Her hands are shaking when she finally lifts them to cup Sierra’s face, tilting her head to give herself a better angle. Sierra’s warm beneath her touch, which is both a relief and a worry. It’s not a dream. Sierra is actually kissing her. _ Sierra Dorothy Amalia Parker is kissing her_. 

When Sierra finally pulls away, Emma’s at an even bigger loss for words than before. Her cheeks are damp with tears she didn’t realise she’d spilled, and she’s not sure she’s ever felt like a bigger mess than she does right now. 

But it feels weirdly right. Because that’s all the two of them did, right? Wind up in one mess after another. 

And this was just another one of those messes. 

Something lodged in Emma’s throat - a secret, a confession, something she _ needed _ to get off her chest - but before she can articulate a sentence of any sorts, Eddie's whining cuts through the bathroom door and interrupts them. 

Sierra’s expression falters, and she grips the sleeve of Emma’s t-shirt, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes. 

“Will you please let Eddie back in?” she begs. 

Emma purses her lips. “I don’t want her jumping on you.” 

“She won’t.” Sierra’s voice cracks as she speaks, but she holds firm, tugging on Emma’s sleeve again as if to reiterate her point. “_Please_.”

Emma hesitates. She _ really _doesn’t want to let the dog back into the bathroom, lest she inadvertently hurt Sierra even more than she already was. But Sierra’s looking up at her with the most desperate look in her eyes, and Eddie’s incessant whining is ringing in her ears as she continues to scratch at the door. 

With a sigh, Emma finally caves, and gets up to unlock the bathroom door. 

Eddie practically bowls her over as she bounds back into the bathroom, and Emma had to cling to the bathroom counter to stop herself from falling over. 

“Eddie!” Sierra laughs as Eddie props herself up on the tub and starts showering her mother with kisses. 

Emma mutters quietly to herself as she brushes herself off, even though a little bit of dog fur is really nothing compared to the amount of blood staining her front. She just shakes her head as she settles back down beside the bathtub, letting her head rest on the lip as she watched Eddie frantically fawn over her mother. 

“Okay, girl, down,” Sierra shoos Eddie off the lip of the tub. “Mommy doesn’t want to pop her stitches.” 

Emma smiles at Sierra’s words, raising her head ever so slightly. 

“So, you’re glad I dragged you out of there now?” she goads. 

Sierra rolls her eyes, but Emma doesn’t miss the way her lip twitches as she tries to bite back a smirk. 

“Maybe just a little,” she confesses, ruffling Eddie’s fur. “Someone needs to take care of Eddie, and God knows you wouldn’t manage.” 

“Hey!” Emma exclaims at the accusation - although she knows it’s not entirely unjustified. As sweet as Eddie could be, Emma was still struggling to bring herself to care for any sort of dog. 

Sierra just laughs again, adjusting her position in the bathtub as Eddie settles on the floor between them. When she lowers her head to meet Emma’s gaze, her expression falters, and she clears her throat before picking at a loose thread hanging from the hem of her shorts. 

“So, going back to what you said earlier...” Sierra bites her lip, her gaze falling into her lap as she tangles the thread between her fingers. “Did you really mean all that?” 

Emma’s breath catches in her chest. Sierra’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet; she’s always so loud and brash and straightforward, and Emma’s not sure what to make of this vulnerable side of her. 

She reaches across the tub and takes Sierra’s hand again, lacing their fingers together as tightly as she can manage. 

“Every word,” she manages to say, struggling to hold back tears. She doesn’t know why she keeps crying, but, _ God_, her heart feels like it’s about to burst. In a mere week, she’d managed to lose everything: her home, her parents, the family fortune she’d always assumed she’d be able to fall back on. Sierra was all she had left, and Gods be damned if she was about to throw that away. 

Sierra smiles, squeezing Emma’s hand. 

“So, if I asked you to kiss me again...” A mischievous glint flashes in Sierra’s eyes as she meets Emma’s gaze again. “Would you?” 

Emma raises her eyebrows. “Are you asking?” 

“Are you offering?” 

Emma can’t hide the grin that spreads across her face at the implication of Sierra’s words. She hoists herself onto her knees and leans forward, curling her fingers against the underside of Sierra’s jaw as she presses her lips against hers. 

It’s not a grand, sweeping gesture. There are no fireworks or cascading rose petals, and Emma quickly regrets not washing her mouth out as she tastes bile on her tongue again. There’s just tears and blood and a whining Collie pressing against her hand in a desperate bid for attention. 

But Emma’s never been one to fantasize about romance. As far as she cares, this is the best moment of her nineteen year old life, and she catches herself wishing it didn’t have to end. 

As they finally pull away from one another, Emma locks eyes with Sierra, and she finally feels a weight fall from her shoulders. Things were far from perfect, but at the very least, they still had each other. Emma finds herself thanking her lucky stars for that fact as she tangles a hand in Sierra’s dark curls and leans in to steal another kiss. 

And it's then, surrounded by all the blood and the unending chaos, that Emma realises how screwed she is.

Because she's in love with Sierra Parker.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D


End file.
